It's a Small, Small Metro World

I’ve been riding the same Metro line for the better part of the past four years, getting on and off at the same stops, to the point where I can tick off the stops from memory without really thinking about it. Over time, you start to see a lot of the same people, and while you probably don’t get to know them, they do become very familiar to you. For example, the guy who I will always remember as a candidate for anger management classes because one day he ran up the stairs and just missed the train. So he started banging on the door and cursing the driver as the train pulled away. He’s never done anything like that since then (not that I’ve witnessed, anyway), but whenever I see him, I think that there must be a lot more suppressed anger boiling away in there. Can’t help it.

There’s the woman who has the most hard-core mullet I have ever seen in my life. It is ALL business up front, and one wild and crazy party in the back, my friends. She is an otherwise perfectly normal looking woman, who is probably very nice and maybe has a few kids my age who may occasionally think “holy crap, Mom – please do something about that!”, but she is always the Mullet Lady to me.

The couple who have gone from dating, to engaged, to married (based on the occasional observance of rings being added) and are just so into each other that, regardless of the weather or Metro delays, they form their own little cocoon of cuteness on the platform. The fact that they manage not to be nauseating in the process is also quite nice.

There are plenty of other people that I see every day, and were I to see them elsewhere in my real life I would wonder where I knew them from, it’s just funny how people you don’t know at all can still be so familiar.

Of course, then there was the guy I saw out of the corner of my eye last night. He was slumped over the seat in front of him, and I saw him look furtively around the car before resting his head back down again. Then I heard a splashing sound. Like someone was dumping a large bucket of gumbo out onto the floor. Followed by another prolonged splashing sound. The people in our car began to look vaguely alarmed, and I knew that I would have to take quick action to avoid implementation of my rule.

You see, I have a very strict rule. This rule is that no one vomits alone in my presence. No one.

At this point, I could only hear what was going on, there was no visual and no smell to accompany it. So at the next stop, the one before mine, I leapt out of the car and ran down the platform, stepping into the car behind it. I just didn’t have confidence that I could make it all the way to my stop if he continued to do the ol’ Technicolor™ yawn. I felt, and feel, so incredibly bad for whatever Metro employee got stuck cleaning up after this guy – that can’t have been a remotely pleasant experience.

The Anger Management Candidate seemed to want to get off the train as quickly as I did.

Debating...Again

Well, as some of you know, I’ve wanted to do something for a while, and I’ve always had some excuse or another as to why I wasn’t doing it (often they were legitimate, but not always). So, if I blog about it, does that act as an accountability measure? Perhaps.

So here we go.

In order to get our minds off of other things that could become all-consuming, in an unhealthy way, (although I don’t know if there’s a healthy way for anything to be all-consuming), I asked Special K the other day if he’d like to train for a triathlon with me. Fortunately, he’s an adventurous sort, and he said yes. Now, we haven’t talked about it in anything more than vague generalities, but triathlon season will be over in a couple of months, so we would basically be training for something that is likely to happen next spring/summer/fall. Which is fortunate because, speaking for myself, I’m nowhere near in shape for it at present, and will need to work hard. I can do each of the individual events (swimming, biking, running), although my running needs work, it’s just doing all three in combination that will be difficult. Or rather, really freaking hard.

We’re not talking Iron Man or anything insane like that. Rather, I’m thinking we should start slow, with a sprint distance. See how we like it, if we can do it, all that stuff. But I’m a type-A personality and I respond well to goals and limits. Special K is far more type-B (which is a very good thing for both of us), but he’s also got enough discipline to totally pull something like this off.

So...wish us luck? If nothing else, it will be a good diversion!

Sheep Learn Faster Than Me

I recently bought some new running shoes – the same kind that I had when I first started running. Back before I had joint problems related to running. And, wouldn’t you know, after running a few times with these shoes, I don’t have joint problems. I realize that I’ve probably just jinxed myself by saying that, but I’ve been through at least four other kinds of running shoes in the past two years, most of which have left me with some degree of pain or another. And it hadn’t occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, the shoes had something to do with it. Oh, I figured there was some connection, which was why I kept trying new shoes. But it hadn’t occurred to me until recently to just go back to the ones that were FINE IN THE FIRST PLACE.

*bangs head against desk*

In any case, whilst at the gym this morning, I was reminded of several gym behaviors that tend to bug me. The following list is in no particular order:

People talking on their cell phones while using gym equipment. I mean really – no one is that important. But my real loathing is for people who will sit on the equipment, not doing anything, and talk on their phones. As if the people who actually want to use the machines for the purpose for which they are designed have nothing better to do than sit around and listen to you discuss your most recent bad date or the sciatica that’s been troubling you.

People (often men) who try to lift more weight than they can really lift. If you have to throw your entire body weight into it just to make the weights move, YOU CAN’T LIFT THAT MUCH. Face it, deal with it, and get over it – please. You’re only injuring yourself in the name of vanity.

Women who take up an entire bench in the locker room with their buckets o’ grooming tools, lotions, and assorted chick products. Now, I bring all of those things to the gym myself, however, I try to be aware that there are other people there, and consequently, I don’t spread my crap out all over the place.

Although I think I’ve mentioned this one before, it warrants another mention: men who try to ask my breasts if they’ve had a good workout. First of all, they won’t answer you; all comments and questions will need to be addressed to my face. Second of all, I know what I look like when I’m at the gym. I am red-faced and sweaty, I probably smell bad, I have no makeup on, and my hair is virtually always pulled back in some ratty ponytail. If this turns you on, YOU NEED HIGHER STANDARDS.

There, that’s better.

When leaving CVS last night, I was behind a family with a few kids, probably ages 8 – 12 or somewhere in there. One of them decided that she needed to make her needs known at the highest volume possible, and screamed something about wanting to go home, wanting ice cream, wanting something – I really don’t remember. Without even pausing, her mother turned her head to the side as she continued walking out and said in a low, steady voice, “Scream one more time and see what happens.” That was the end of the conversation. I had to rush back to my car so I wouldn’t laugh right there, as I had the feeling that laughter wouldn’t be helpful.

Well, my move to the domestic division is, apparently, now complete. I suppose it’s good that it’s all settled, and it was done with the understanding that I’ll still be available for international work on a case-by-case basis, which was really the hardest thing for me to give up, psychologically. So, I haven’t closed that door, I’ve just moved myself to another place where my life can be afforded a bit more stability. I’m kind of sad and kind of relieved, and at least that’s one transition done. In any case, my boss (or rather, my old boss) has been really supportive and has pushed to get things for me, for which I’m really grateful. So that’s one thing taken care of – at least I’m not in limbo anymore.

Transition

Well, things have been set into motion to make me a full-time domestic employee. I’ve said that I want to be available for international work when things get slow for domestic (which won’t be any time soon, from the looks of it, but every division has peaks and valleys over time), but that I think full-time domestic is what’s best for me now. I kind of can’t believe that I’m actually doing it. Part of me really doesn’t feel like I’m done with international work, if that makes any sense, even though I’m not doing any of it right now. There’s something exhilarating about landing in a foreign country and finding your way through another culture, even if it’s really difficult sometimes, and even if it’s scary. But the opportunity to make a change is here now and I know it’s what’s best for me, it just feels strange. Kind of like I never really thought it would happen. But one of many things that I love about Special K is that he also has a curiosity about the world outside US borders, so I know that, as much as possible, travel will be part of our life to come. This work shift is also happening at a time when I’m having to do some major mental readjustment in other areas of my life as well – so all of these things combined are adding up to a very full head. None of these things are bad, and some of them are downright wonderful and amazing, but they all add up to a very stressed out Mandy.

I feel some much-needed hibernation coming on. I think I should have a free weekend…oh, some time late next month, maybe? Possibly in October.

Drivin'

Just got back from a weekend in NYC visiting friends – it was so nice to have a change of pace, spend some time with old friends (and introduce them to Special K), and just generally chill out with a few beers and good company. The drive up was pretty easy (it was post-rush hour, which made life a lot happier), just a few snags in the usual places. I would *swear* to you that the BQE (Brooklyn-Queens Expressway) has been under construction for all of the eight years that I’ve been acquainted with it. And what’s more, it looks like the *same* construction, same orange and white barrels that some New Jersey drivers use for slalom practice, and the same road surface that feels like a rumble strip and doesn’t look as though it will really support the weight of the traffic carrying it over the boroughs. However, it always does and we rolled into Queens around 11:40. We rolled up to J&M’s apartment at 12:15, owing to the reality of attempting to find parking in that place at that hour. (One small thing in favor of the suburbs? Or, at least, the one where I live? Parking sans headaches. Of course, parking was also notoriously difficult in Madison, WI – the lovely city by the lakes that sometimes feels like a suburb. So really – it all depends.)

Saturday was a nice, leisurely day, the highlight of which was R.U.B. (which stands for Righteous Urban Barbecue. I would link to it, but since I’m not sure what will come up if I type “RUB New York City” into a search engine, I’ll leave the legwork to anyone who’s really that curious.). We all sat down and perused the menu, which mostly kept to the basics – a good sign at a barbecue place. After some hemming and hawing (and some tasty beer – the name of which eludes me at the moment), we decided to go with “A Taste of the Baron”, which should have been called “The Festival of Meat”. After we finished our appetizer of chili-cheese fries (I’m committed to watching my girlish figure, after all – it was the only thing besides the cole slaw and the sauce that contained vegetables), the waitress staggered over to our table, arms shaking slightly under the weight of a platter filled with the following: pulled pork, brisket, turkey, chicken, ham, pastrami, and a cup o’ slaw and cup o’ baked beans (which had huge chunks of salt pork in it). To say that it wasn’t a vegetarian paradise would be the understatement of the century, but it was just…so…good. J and I wussed out before Special K and M, they being far more dedicated than we. However, everyone got to try everything, and we managed to make a very respectable dent in the platter. The rest of the day was spent wandering around the city (one thing I very much love about cities is the walking and people watching), stopping for refreshments when we felt like it, and generally just having a mellow afternoon. We headed back out to J & M’s place, and relaxed with a movie and some awesome chicken dip (the recipe for which M just sent me…I can’t wait to try it!). Then we all confirmed that we are all old by passing out in front of the TV around 10 pm or so.

The next morning we went to a diner for breakfast, which was so very delicious. That’s the thing about the NY metro area that you don’t realize until you leave, or don’t appreciate until you’re there – diners are freaking awesome, and you don’t find real diners too far outside of NY. I don’t know why this is, and if anyone actually finds a good one in the DC area (Silver Diner, while tasty, doesn’t count – they try too hard, and the The Diner in Adams Morgan? Um, hardly – it’s too yuppified.), please, please, please let me know.

We sadly bid them adieu a little after waddling back to their apartment, post-brunch. The drive home was fine, we were accompanied by a friend of mine who needed a ride back to DC, so that was nice. Although, bad hostess that I am, I fell asleep for most of the ride. So many thanks to Special K for doing all of the driving on the way back.

Some friends are coming in this weekend for a trip we’ve been planning for a while, so that should be fun. My parents are all set to babysit (what with having had a wee bit of experience with little ones in their lifetime thus far), and I’m hoping the weather stays nice!

In the meantime, however, I’ve got a very long to-do list. Who wishes they were me???